


A Vain Man

by The_Real_Fenris



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Dorian is stubborn, M/M, The Inquisitor is also stubborn, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dorian announces that he is returning to Tevinter, the Inquisitor refuses to let the man he loves go without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vain Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little fic I wrote because my first reaction to the Dorian romance in Trespasser was: NO, DORIAN! GET BACK HERE! YOU'RE NOT LEAVING ME! MARRY ME SO WE CAN LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER!
> 
> What can I say, I'm selfish and needy. And so is my Inquisitor.

Varric raised his wine cup. “We’ll miss you, if it counts.”

Eventually, the Inquisitor stopped staring at Varric, now turning his questioning gaze to his lover. Dorian, at least, had the decency to look abashed. Lowering his own wine cup, Dorian attempted to stab Varric with his eyes.

“And you didn’t know,” Varric suddenly realized. “Okay, folks! Time to take the party elsewhere.”

Leaving the Iron Bull where he was – passed out on the ground – Varric and the others hastily retreated.

Dorian set down his cup. Then took a few steps into the courtyard where he stopped, crossing his arms, his back to the Inquisitor.

Mahanon Lavellan’s thoughts moved like honey as he tried to comprehend the situation. Dorian had been away in Tevinter for a month. And what Lavellan thought was a party to celebrate Dorian’s new title of Tevinter Ambassador, was actually a going away party. And – worst of all – even though he’d welcomed Dorian back just a few hours ago, Dorian hadn’t even told him that he was planning on leaving the Inquisition to return to Tevinter.

Leaving _him._

He took several slow, unsteady steps until he reached Dorian’s side. Listened as Dorian talked. Dorian saying that he couldn’t stay away from Tevinter forever. And that he was leaving as soon as the Exalted Council was done. Saying that he’d had news of his father’s death that morning, and how he’d inherited his father’s seat in the Magisterium. Saying, _I’m sorry, for what it’s worth._

Lavellan’s thoughts were still slow. He did manage to mumble some condolences for the death of Dorian’s father. But no matter how hard he tried to digest what Dorian was saying, the rest of the mage’s words just weren’t making sense. Gradually, however, he understood one thing:

_He’s leaving me. After two years together. Just like that._

The more he thought about it, the more upsetting it became.

_He didn’t even discuss it with me. He just decided. On his own. Creators, doesn’t he even care about how I feel? This – it wasn’t supposed to happen like this._

In fact, the Inquisitor had entertained his own ideas about how his next meeting with Dorian was supposed to transpire. Oddly, Cassandra had even guessed at his intention. Apparently Varric had mentioned something about a proposal to her. At Lavellan’s blank stare, Cassandra had become so flustered at her presumed mistake, that the Inquisitor actually let it slip that he might get married to Dorian. That he’d thought about it. Though he didn’t go as far to reveal that a romantic marriage proposal was precisely his plan.

The Dalish had their own form of what others called marriage, with its own traditions, including an exchange of highly symbolic gifts, and ending with two days of celebration after a bonding ceremony performed by the Keeper. But Dorian was a  _shem._ Regardless of his Keeper’s leniency when it came to his courtship of Dorian, there was no way that Mahanon would ever be permitted to bond with a  _shem,_ particularly one who was also a man. So the Inquisitor had quietly conducted a little research on human marriage rituals. It may have been unconventional, but nowhere was it decreed that two men couldn’t marry. Or a human with an elf.

Now, as he ran a hand down over his jacket pocket, he could feel the little box with the matching rings. The ones he’d had secretly made and engraved by the finest goldsmith in Val Royeaux.

The Inquisitor realized that Dorian had stopped speaking, and was looking at him expectantly. Awaiting his reply.

For Dorian Pavus, he would do anything. Absolutely _anything._

“You’ll need help,” the Inquisitor said. “I could go with you.”

“Not this time, _amatus.”_

“Dorian.. why?”

The Inquisitor nearly cringed at the plaintive sound of his own voice.

Dorian regarded him with what resembled pity. “You come to Tevinter? Don’t you realize? People are going to look at you one of two ways. Either as the Inquisitor – the hero, larger than life. The man with all the influence. How am I supposed to win people’s respect if I’m standing in your shadow? Or...”

“Or?”

Dorian became grim. _“Amatus._ Be realistic. You’re an elf. If you stay by my side... well, you know how things are in Tevinter. People will assume. That I own you.”

Lavellan became quiet as Dorian’s words sank in. Of course he was aware of the status of elves in Tevinter. Most of them _were_ slaves. And – from what he’d heard – things weren’t much better for free elves, even if they did possess magic skills like he did. Even so, after having lived among _shemlen_ for nearly three years, he was – sadly – no stranger to racism.

“I don’t care what people assume!”

Something in Dorian’s expression softened. “But I _do,”_ he admitted. “I don’t think I could stand to see you... treated like that. Like a... thing.”

“So... your solution is to just... leave? What about us?”

Dorian paused. The Inquisitor’s ears had lowered, signifying disappointment. Maker, Dorian hated being the cause of that gesture. “There will always be an ‘us.’ We’ll just be... farther apart for a time.”

“But, _vhenan..._ I can’t... I can’t live without you.”

“Now you’re just being melodramatic.”

Those callously thrown words felt like a thin blade, piercing directly into his heart.

“Dorian, I don’t... _no,”_ Lavellan hissed. “This isn’t acceptable. I thought we were in this together!”

Dorian crossed his arms. Defensively. “This is something I _need_ to do. And don’t act so surprised – I’ve been talking about this for _years.”_

_No._ This wasn’t going well at all. “Dorian, if you go... then don’t expect me to sit here, pining away for you.”

Anger flashed in Dorian’s eyes. “I... you... really? I thought you’d be more understanding. I didn’t expect you’d resort to  _emotional blackmail.”_

Lavellan’s eyes flashed back. “And I didn’t expect you to be so... bloody selfish!”

They stared at each other in silence. Each man angry. Hurt.

Dorian tightened his arms about himself, then spoke haltingly. “If those are your terms, then... perhaps we should end this now.”

“Perhaps we should.”

_Strange,_ Dorian thought,  _just how much that hurts._

“Very well,” Dorian said, with a flippancy he did not feel. “But that doesn’t mean you can just chase me off. I intended to stay until the Exalted Council was over, and I shall. I owe the Inquisition that much.”

Lavellan considered it. Kicking Dorian out. Regardless of any personal feelings that Cullen harbored for the mage from Tevinter, one word from the Inquisitor and Cullen would have his men drag Dorian out of the Winter Palace without question. Except he knew, despite his anger, that such a deed would be petty of him. “Fine.”

Dorian tilted up his chin. “In that case, there is nothing more for us to say.”

Silent, the Inquisitor, his heart breaking, watched Dorian walk away.

 

***

 

The Inquisitor had been avoiding him since they’d broken up.  _Of course._

The other members of the Inquisition were now his source for information about what the Inquisitor was doing. Chasing Qunari and jumping through Briala’s network of Eluvians, mostly. Whatever they said, though, Dorian feigned indifference about being excluded. He even managed to remain somewhat detached when Leliana revealed to them that the magic of the Anchor was becoming unstable. 

Which meant that the mark was killing him.

_The man I love is dying._

Apparently, this wasn’t even a recent development. And, apparently, Dorian was one of the last ones to know. Why hadn’t anybody told him?

Maker, why hadn’t Mahanon told him?

At the news, Dorian managed only a breathless, “I see.”

Leliana regarded him closely. “Then you didn’t know,” she said. In her eyes, the warmth of true compassion. “I’m sorry, Dorian.”

 

***

 

Dorian spent the next two days going through the motions of letter-writing and bolstering political support for his homeland, when he wasn’t actually stumbling blindly through the grounds of the Winter Palace.

It still didn’t feel  _real._ Perhaps he was just in a state of denial? A state that Dorian was most happy to embrace. At least until he actually laid eyes on the Inquisitor again.

Lavellan’s chase was nearly at an end. There was nothing more to do except track down Viddasala, the Qunari leader, and confront her. Which meant that Lavellan wanted all the magical firepower the Inquisition possessed at his disposal, so for the final showdown he needed both Vivienne and Dorian.

The mages, along with Varric, met the Inquisitor at the Eluvian.

“Let’s go,” was all the Inquisitor said before stepping through the mirror.

Into the Crossroads.

The Inquisitor led. For a moment, Dorian just stared at the familiar lines of his back. The familiar staff slung across it. Recalled how it had felt to hold the Inquisitor’s slender body against his. Recalled how it felt to run his fingers through the Inquisitor’s silky hair. And, when the man turned around to look at him, Dorian recalled the last time he’d kissed those wonderfully full lips.

And it occurred to him that he’d never be able to that again.

Dorian didn’t know what his expression was doing, but it caused a bit of alarm to appear on the elf’s face. “Dorian? Are you all right?”

They hadn’t spoken since the break-up. Maker, that voice... it cut Dorian straight through to his core. “Leliana told us about your little pyrotechnic display during your last chat,” he said. “Why didn’t you say something?” Near hysteria, Dorian’s voice cracked. “I could have... I don’t know, _something.”_

The Inquisitor regarded him. Mouth grim. He had never lied to Dorian – and he had no intention of starting now. “ Whatever happens...” he confessed, “I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything. _Ar lath ma, vhenan.”_

That. Speaking those words. It wasn’t fair. Something in Dorian unraveled. His voice was raw, as he sobbed out the words. “I knew you would break my heart, you bloody  _bastard.”_

Lavellan’s eyes widened. A quick glance at the others revealed the surprise and concern on their faces. One thing for certain was that no one had ever seen Dorian Pavus crack before. And no one had ever seen him cry.

Lavellan reacted. Moving quickly, he seized Dorian by the sleeve, and hauled him away. Not that the Crossroads offered much by the way of privacy, but he managed to pull Dorian into a somewhat quiet spot behind a statue.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. Helpless, he watched Dorian shake, as tears spilled from his beautiful gray eyes. They’d broken up. They weren’t together anymore. Creators, what was he supposed to do?

And why did everything have to _hurt_ so much?

Stepping forward, he reached for the mage. Dorian sank into his arms, sobbing quite openly on his shoulder.

Gentle elven fingers combed through his hair. The familiar, lyrical voice thrummed quietly in his ear. “Dorian... _vhenan_...”

The men stood for a long time, in each others’ embrace, as Dorian’s weeping gradually became faint, then he quieted. Still, his voice was a strained whisper when he finally spoke. “I don’t want you to die.”

Lavellan ran his hand through Dorian’s hair once more before he leaned back to meet the mage’s eyes. “I don’t want to die either,” he said, then tried to put on a brave smile for Dorian. “But it isn’t like I have any choice in the matter.”

Gray eyes oozed pain. “Then, there truly is nothing? Nothing that can be done?”

The elf’s smile became sad as he lifted a hand to Dorian’s face. “If only... I wish...”

_“Amatus?”_

“I know it’s selfish of me to ask,” Lavellan said softly. “The time I have left... there may not be much of it, but all I want is to spend it with you.”

Dorian covered his lover’s hand with his own. Felt his heart overflowing with love, terror and sorrow. “Of course,  _amatus._ I am here. I won’t ever leave you again. I swear it.”

 

***

 

Dorian had promised to stay with the Inquisitor until he died.

Except that the Inquisitor was no longer dying.

At least not at the exponentially  _alarming_ rate as before.

The Inquisitor stood alone on the balcony of the Winter Palace. Head tilted up as he studied the scar faintly glowing in the sky. The sleeve of his red jacket rolled up and neatly pinned just below his left elbow. As Dorian reached his side, the Inquisitor smiled, warmth in his eyes.

Maker, how he loved this man.

Dorian returned the smile. “Now what,  _amatus?_ Are we saving the world once again?”

Dorian had sworn he’d stay with the Inquisitor. Just because the man was no longer at death’s door did not mean that Dorian would renege on that promise.

“More or less.” The Inquisitor set his hand on the railing. Considered the sky again for a moment before turning back to Dorian. “The Inquisition needs you,” he said. “In Tevinter.”

Surprise rendered Dorian speechless. For a moment, his thoughts tumbled around in his head. “What about us?”

Almost absentmindedly, the Inquisitor stroked the jacket of his pocket. Still felt the little box he still kept inside.

_Even if I did ask... even if he said yes... well, it would a bit difficult now to wear the ring._

Solas’ threat – this was bigger than the both of them. But it did not mean that the Inquisitor was going to let Dorian go without a fight. 

The Inquisitor reached out to cover Dorian’s hand with his own. Gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry,  _vhenan,”_ he said with a gentle smile. “There is a way...”

 

***

 

_Six months later..._

Servants moved quietly through the corridors of House Pavus.

There had been slaves here once. But once the young Lord had returned, one of his first acts as the new master of the house was to free all the elven slaves his family had kept. Many had opted to remain as paid servants in the house, though some had departed – mostly Dalish elves who still remembered their lives before slavery. Lord Pavus had even arranged them safe passage out of Tevinter.

Having dropped off the tea tray in the master’s office, the maid curtsied to him before slipping out of the room.

In the corridor, she saw one of the other servants. “He’s doing it again,” she said in a low voice. “Looking in that mirror.”

“That’s no surprise,” the other girl said. “They say he’s always been a vain man.”

“Strange, it is. And – that mirror! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I heard that it came from down south. A gift from the Inquisition.”

The new girl lowered her voice another tick. “Is it true that Lord Pavus is... you know, _involved_ with the Inquisitor?”

“He used to be. Least that’s what they say. But, since he’s taken his seat in the Magisterium, he hasn’t even left Minrathous. And no one has seen the Inquisitor here.”

Behind them came the loud clearing of a throat. Startled, the girls turned to see the steward glaring with disapproval. “Ladies. Surely you have duties to attend to?”

The maids dropped into a quick curtsey. In unison, they said, “Yes, Master Dasio.”

 

***

 

Dorian sat at the desk in his office, quill scribing mindless doodles in the margins of his parchment. He vaguely regretted his offer to help Maevaris with the actual writing of the reforms they wishes to propose to the Magisterium. Speaking – that was one thing that Dorian was quite good at. But writing things down – wording things in a non-offensive manner, all wrapped up in legalese – well, it wasn’t exactly _fun_.

Still, despite his frustrations, in the past six months, the faction he and Mae had been leading had gathered even more followers. Together, they possessed a true voice in Tevinter’s government.

_Someday..._ he mused.  _We may even abolish blood magic._

Dorian glanced up as the dwarven clock on the mantle chimed. Wondered how the hour had already grown so late. Realized that his tea, untouched, had grown cold hours ago. 

Setting down his quill, he stood up from the desk. Stretched once before he crossed the room to stand before the mirror.

In it, he could see his reflection. It wasn’t as clear as a normal looking glass – sort of blurry around the edges. Staring into the glass, he watched, waiting. Adjusted the collar of his robes, waiting. Ran a hand to smooth back his hair, waiting. Shifted his weight, once, twice, waiting. Twisted the gold band around the ring finger on his left hand.

Inscribed on the inside of the ring, in small, but beautiful script, were two words: _ma vhenan._

Eventually the glass in the mirror became foggy, and within it, wisps of magic began to swirl like a heap of snakes.

_“Amatus,”_ Dorian admonished. “You’re late. Again.”

Then the Inquisitor was stepping through the Eluvian, straight into Dorian’s waiting arms. Smiling as he leaned in for a kiss, his right hand falling by habit to Dorian’s waist, as the left hand in its soft kid glove, lovingly settled on Dorian’s face.

Dorian smiled against his husband’s lips when he heard the soft, metallic clicks and whirls as the mechanical fingers moved.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by [this lovely comic](http://siriusdraws.tumblr.com/post/129135222945/i-dont-know-where-i-was-going-with-that-tbh) by siriusdraws  
> 


End file.
